


Plastic To Plastic

by Lscholar



Category: Heaven Will Be Mine (Visual Novel)
Genre: ... mild petplay, Canon-Typical Hyperfigurative Language, Exhibitionism, F/F, Post CG End, Sex in Mechs, Shameless Ideological Destruction, Strong Language, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lscholar/pseuds/Lscholar
Summary: Nobody ever falls in space. Nobody can. Well, they can and do fall in love but that’s different, except it isn’t really. Alone in space, you’re always falling, but you’re secure in your own gravity, until a planet or moon or cute pilot comes along with their own gravity well. Then you can fall.Luna-Terra is falling right now. She’s just not moving downwards, because Mare Crisium is dangling from the String of Pearls' clawed fingers over the infinite hazy cloud bedspread of Aphrodite-which-will-be-Venus, completely at Saturn's mercy.





	Plastic To Plastic

Mare Crisium kneels on the edge of the atmosphere.

Atmospheres don’t have edges, but this is where any human would draw one. Aphrodite which will someday be Venus stirs lazily below her like an endless bedspread, layers of hazy golden clouds drifting like gentle waves. Cradle’s Graces is here, unseen; tucked away on floating habitats and dug deep into the jungles, where Earth’s cameras and ship-selves can’t reach, no matter how hard they try.

Luna-Terra clutches her spear in both hands.

Her heart is racing. There are so many ways this could go wrong. It’s incredibly unsafe and more than incredibly humiliating, and for what? There is, presumably, a strategic benefit, but not even Luna-Terra can convince herself that that has anything to do with the reason she’s here.

Pluto gave her a very professional briefing, with objectives and projected complications and rough time intervals. Luna-Terra has always been good at briefings, if not at what follows. Briefings are easy: get your orders, nod your head, look properly contrite when you get lectured about not doing as you were told last time and the time before. 

Pluto isn't somebody she can fool though. Pluto smiled all through the briefing, and Pluto is smiling now. Luna-Terra's tidal sensitivity is better than it was (it's still like, the worst in space) but even she can feel the firm hands of Krun Macula's tides buoying her up from below.

It's nice to be held, but she struggles a little anyways. She knows she doesn't need to; that at the slightest word or gesture or feeling from her Pluto will tear space asunder and drag her down through the clouds to safety. She also knows Pluto likes it when she struggles. Luna-Terra is always nervous and never capable of expressing anything straightforwardly, but she knows Pluto will understand and thank her for trusting her by struggling. That's all this is. Just a little flirting between girlfriends or wives or partners. Nothing to be concerned about.

 

 

She waits on the cusp of space, swallowing her own saliva and taking inventory. She's run all her manual diagnostics twice when she feels a line-swipe of gravity run like a nail up her back. Mare Crisium shudders and creaks. 

The String of Pearls breaches the clouds feet first and reorients herself in midair, tail swishing slowly back and forth. 

Luna-Terra smiles. It’s so like Saturn to flaunt her defiance. Saturn defies everything: expectations and schedules and planetary frames of reference.

“heyyyyyyyyyyyy” says Saturn, over public comms.

“… Hey.” says Luna-Terra.

“aHEM.” says Saturn. “so. ready?”

The Mare Crisium nods.

Earth’s eyes are on them both now. The spy satellites glint overhead like sinister stars.

“ooooh lemme send u a feed” says Saturn, on private comms. A thin black cable snakes its way out of the String of Pearls and plugs itself into Mare Crisium’s systems, right under her neck. Luna-Terra’s leftmost screen, the one she usually just uses for whatever when she’s sitting around bored, is replaced with a cutesy little cartoon image of Saturn’s head, tongue between two fingers and winking suggestively.

“laaaaaaadies and gentlemen and others!” yells Saturn, broadcasting to the universe. “people of earth. but mostly the ladies!!! send more hot girls over Please!”

Luna-Terra rolls her eyes and privately agrees.

"we the rebels of Cradle's Graces do declare that we can fight forever! can you? this message is for you Memorial Foundation or NSES or whatever youre calling yourselves now. the ones who think you’re grown up, the boring adults still trying to save us from ourselves. Rhea! Tethys! Ariel! pretty prissy princess Halimede! get the fuck over here!"

The String of Pearls holds out her claws, a cat's-cradle of electrotoxin dancing between them.

"touch us again! let us touch you! what are you afraid of losing? you think earth wants you? earth threw us away! we've made a new heaven and we'll make a new earth and if you don't want that get past escape velocity and come fucking fight us about it!"

Saturn's words, too, are laced and dripping with sweet glistening poison. Luna-Terra can feel the unrelenting burn of it in her heart. Doctor Nix can go fuck a cactus, in her opinion, but that dream of worlds for everyone still shines, even through this endless hazy not-quite-a-war.

"we're thankful for our cradles graces," Saturn snarls, "and no way in hell are we coming back!" The String of Pearls crashes her hands together and the string figure dissipates into pink mist.

 

“look” says Saturn, “at what weve got here! the test-type mare crisium and her infamous pilot, Memorial Foundation's perfect ace."

 

Luna-Terra watches from Saturn’s feed as the claws of Saturn’s ship-self hook under the bit of Mare Crisium that Saturn affectionately calls her crop top and draw her gently upward. She's suspended on her fingertips.

 

Pluto’s influence retreats, but just a little. Luna-Terra has never been able to read gravity like Pluto and Saturn can but she knows Pluto well enough that she can hear that little laugh and see that smile as Pluto hands her over to Saturn by the metaphorical scruff of her neck.

Mare Crisium hangs by those four points under all heaven and Earth.

Saturn won’t let her fall, and if she did Pluto would catch her and if she didn’t Luna-Terra wouldn’t actually fall, because she’s still a pilot savant and Mare Crisium is hers and, old as she is, Mare Crisium does have a flight unit. She could reach out, could put her hands on the controls just to calm her nerves, but she allows herself to trust completely.

Her body goes limp. The Luna-Terra inside her body takes a drink of water and goes limp too. She watches Pluto send her spear right back up, so it bobs gently on the clouds.

But Saturn can see her watching, and she doesn’t want her distracted!

The String of Pearls pulls three fingers back in and swings Mare Crisium around just a little on her index, the only one remaining.

Nobody ever falls in space. Nobody can. Well, they can and do fall in love but that’s different, except it isn’t really. Alone in space, you’re always falling, but you’re secure in your own gravity, until a planet or moon or cute pilot comes along with their own gravity well. Then you can fall.

Luna-Terra is falling right now. She’s just not moving downwards.

“do i even need to introduce her” crows Saturn. “is there a single one of you fighting to bring us back who hasn’t gotten fucked or fucked over or both by Luna-Terra, double-crossing ace pilot heartbreaker lovemaker dicktaker extraordinaire? shes ours now. one of us. i caught her myself and it wasnt even hard!”

“… ouch.” says Luna-Terra. “Why don’t you just skewer me.”

“so greedy!” says Saturn. “wait for it.” She clears her throat theatrically, enjoying the weight of the cameras on her, spinning strings subtle and unsubtle into and through the narrative. Saturn loves having an audience so much that she’s willing to throw herself into the line of fire to get one.

Not that she’d ever get hit unless she wanted to, with String of Pearls’ space-warping capabilities, and not that any hit she let herself take would cause any permanent damage, because her ship-self also regenerates. Honestly Luna-Terra thinks it’s pretty unfair. She wouldn't trade Mare Crisium for it or anything else though. The String of Pearls is cutting edge in every possible sense but one: the sense in which Mare Crisium is the deadliest thing in the solar system.

Not that Mare Crisium is very deadly right now.

“but we didnt come out here just to show off and tell you how much you suck!” says Saturn. “no! we’re here to show off and tell you how much you suck and also to show you what happens to stupid girls who break their own hearts!”

Saturn pitches her voice more naturally, which doesn’t make it any less appealing. It’s perversely private: just her and Luna-Terra and every pilot and camera clear out past the Karman limit under every star in the star-washed firmament.

(Saturn gets a message from Mercury and twists them both just a little for that perfect angle.)

“smile bb” says Saturn. “aaaand Action!”

Luna-Terra’s view feeds shuffle (because of course the outside view wasn’t the only thing on that uplink; when has Saturn ever done any non-sabotage seduction? never. and she'd be offended at the suggestion) until the center ones are standard comm cam formation: Saturn right in the middle taking up multiple screens, prima donna center stage with a little rectangle in the lower right corner so Luna-Terra can see her own face; Mare Crisium’s view on the left; String of Pearls’ on the right; and something Luna-Terra hasn’t seen before squished on the margins under Saturn, a view from outside them both from a tiny little drone.

She drops her eyes coyly away from the camera. It’s too much. Pluto’s been rubbing off on Saturn just a little and even one Pluto is like 0.85 Pluto too much for Luna-Terra to handle.

“ah ah ah.” says Saturn. “look at me and tell me why you did it. what made you think you could just run off back to earth and fight for the people who clipped ur wings?”

“… I was stupid.” says Luna-Terra.

“nope! we already know that!” says Saturn, “and anyways thats not good enough. be a little more, convincing.”

“I was really stupid,” says Luna-Terra.

She was. She takes a second to collect her thoughts, and another to marvel at just how stupid she'd been.

“I thought… I thought I had to be grown up. I wanted to save Cradle’s Graces by throwing their dreams away. I threw mine away and it hollowed me out. I wanted to save Celestial Mechanics by forcing them to keep their forms. Without space I wouldn’t even be human. I wanted to save Memorial Foundation and suffer on Earth with them and never kiss another girl anywhere I could be seen ever again, because I was an idiot who could only imagine happiness under an authority that hated me.”

“wow!” says Saturn. “that's a lot of words! im pretty sure almost nobody out there has heard you say that much ever! also celestial mechanics totally kicked ass and im glad you understand what a butt you were. you found your happiness here, didnt you?

“… Yeah.” says Luna-Terra.

“but theres something you’re still not telling me, Luna-Teeee” says Saturn. “a reason you thought you could run back off to Earth. every MF loyalist ive ever seen wears some kind of bondage gear; Lo Sulci at their head has a fucking spreader bar, which. halimede i totally fucking respect ur complete lack of self respect but like, Really? u had something else pulling u back”

“… No.” says Luna-Terra. “That’s everything.”

“… are you Sure” says Saturn. “cause now if i get it i get to do whatever i want to you. extra whatever i want to you. i know you want that but like, im gonna be fucking insufferable”

“Yeah.” says Luna-Terra; yeah I’m sure and yeah i do want it and yeah, Saturn you’re always fucking insufferable, so what the hell just say it.

“i looked through your chat logs” says Saturn.

Luna-Terra flinches like she would if got slapped, if anyone was able to ever physically hit her; shocked and a little hurt and more than a little needy and absolutely not angry at all.

“hey everybody” says Saturn, with the smuggest shiteating grin imaginable plastered all over her face. “miss perfect sniper ghost ice queen LT had a secret crush. any guesses?”

Luna-Terra buries her face in her hands.

Saturn gets flooded with messages and call requests from all across Venus and from space, too, selects a few at random. “thats a good guess. triton was a total hottie but nope, sorry. triton if ur listening on earth come and try shooting me out of orbit pls! mars? no mars i can absolutely guarantee it wasnt you. i said secret, mars, and your flings were… not. literally everybody knew. im pretty sure the two of you had fangirls, like, as a couple. and how would you tie her to earth??? nope! hes gay. yeah and Halimede was straight lololol wrong tho”

“okay” says Saturn. “who do i sound like?” She squares her shoulders up and tries to look gruff (she’s not very good at it). “‘Stop calling me dad. I’m not interested in your potential. You’ll be judged by the self you create, and that self will be judged by results.’”

Luna-Terra pulls her legs up and wraps her face in her elbows.

“and she got played Hard,” says Saturn. “lemme see. ‘strong and delicate’ ‘good girl’ ‘ _kitten_.’ can any of you like even imagine hardass ‘You’ll get over it’ Operations Commander Europa saying Any of that???? LT did u ever call her dad or did u call her mommy?”

“… once.” mumbles Luna-Terra from inside the ball she’s trying very hard to curl into. “it just slipped out and she laughed and said she was sorry but she couldn’t be that for me.”

“you know,” says Saturn, voice serious, “that was the best possible outcome for you. trust me. i get it i really do shes a total fox but just cause someone is objectively hot to you at some point in time doesnt mean theyre healthy for you. u have us now! your new authority loves you and cares about you and is willing to step on you nicely. you love being owned. say it.”

“You love being owned.” says Luna-Terra.

“ABSOLUTELY CORRECT LUNA-TERRA!” says Saturn, as Mercury facepalms far below. “lucky u though i also like owning you! you’re kind of a brat too, arent you!!!!”

“…maybe” says Luna-Terra. The String of Pearls drops her, and she falls what feels like maybe a few feet  or so before Pluto catches her. Saturn’s ship clasps one claw over the place where her mouth would be in mock surprise and yanks the cable plugged into Mare Crisium’s neck with the other, just to make sure she knows who’s in charge.

“u didn’t think i seriously needed a wire to hack ur systems, did u?” says Saturn. “okay everyone Europa called her kitten but im the one with the ears and tail nyaaaaa and Shes the one on the leash. hmmmmmmmm i could just force you down but thats what you want isnt it. you know this is pointless if you fight back. kneel.”

Luna-Terra kneels.

String of Pearls stamps one little foot on the tides to get Pluto to raise her up just a bit, cause she wants a better angle for this. She puts her claw just where it was earlier and draws it slowly up Mare Crisium’s neck and head until Luna-Terra is looking almost straight upwards.

“good girl.” Saturn says. “tongue out. yes, u have one. Mare Crisium was made for lots of things. look mmm on your left somewhere?”

She does. Mare Crisium was the first true ship-self, built for all kinds of outward expression, before the beginning and end of the Cold War. She has a mouth and a tongue, for purely symbolic purposes. If Luna-Terra knew how to sing she might be able to get more use out of them. But Luna-Terra is an idiot who only knows how to do one thing. In all fairness, she’s really good at it.

“maybe” says Saturn, “we should get you a collar. if you keep being a good girl today ill look into it ok?

Luna-Terra would like that.

“leash, collar, sits on command…” muses Saturn. “hmmmmmm. Luna-Terra you don’t get to be a kitten. u dont even want to be a kitten do u. youre my fucking bitch.”

Luna-Terra is crushed instantly and she’s dead. shes just fucking dead. The String of Pearls shakes Mare Crisium for a few seconds as the Luna-Terra inside reboots.

“You good?” says Saturn.

“Yeah.” says LT. “uh. wow. yeah Im, really good. woof.”

Saturn’s claws leave thin streaks of bubbling electrotoxin under Mare Crisium’s chin. “good girl.” she says. “your spears over there. now on your hands and knees and go fetch.”

Twenty-year old bleeding Mare Crisium crushes cheaters like the String of Pearls and combat monsters like hyperflamesuper!overheat mode Olympus Mons* alike. Mercury keeps track of power level rankings because he’s a huge fucking nerd and almost everyone he’s talked to agrees that Mare Crisium is the only ship-self with a ghost of a chance against Krun Macula, which isn’t really a ship so much as it is an unsurpassable narrative obstruction.

*Mars of course insists hyperflamesuper!overheat Heaven and Hell Burning Mandala mode Olympus Mons** could totally take her, but Mars watches too much anime.

**Mars named all her powerup modes herself, and whenever she activates one she yells its name and does a pose. If she didn’t do that maybe she could beat Luna-Terra but no fucking way is anybody ever telling her to stop.

(Saturn thinks she could take Krun Macula but Saturn is an idiot with NO concern for her own safety god why is she. Like This. The only way to beat Pluto is to convince her that you’re right, which, Mercury is lucky, involves the kind of activity that Saturn enjoys anyways.)

Mare Crisium is weathered and severe. Luna-Terra could fall or cartwheel or jet there easily, with an economy of motion surpassing elegance. She’s basically unbeatable in combat but she only got that way by practice and naturally being a total untouchable bitch, because Mare Crisium doesn’t have her biofeedback or an albedo separation matrix shell or any spatial warping beyond the default tidal projection. All she’s ever had is her ship and her spear, and neither of those have ever given her cause to crawl.

But here she is, down on her hands and knees.

Saturn smacks her butt.

“Now what.” she says when she gets there.

“mmmm pick it up in ur mouth! and like turn this way and make sure everyone can see just how happy you are to do this.” Saturn is having a lot of fun; her tail is twitching just a little faster, coiling and undulating in hypnotic almost-patterns.

Mare Crisium raises one arm and taps on her severely protruding faceplates.

“huh.” says Saturn. “can u like, slide it in there?”

Luna-Terra shakes her head no.

“could you like, balance it on top?”

Luna-Terra rolls over in despair.

“bellyrubs later, ok? i promise.” says Saturn. “u know just how proud Pluto and i are of u but there is so, so much more fun we can have! u did a very good job so just pick it up and come over here—“

and Luna-Terra is there, like she’d never even moved. Saturn might be mad if she’d cloaked or warped over but nope, Luna-Terra doesn't know how to do any of those things. She’s just that fast and willing to show off.

Saturn’s used to it, but it’ll look nice for the cameras anyways.

Luna-Terra really is breathtakingly beautiful. Her wound leaks into the haze, deep red coolant floating off into the void above and the atmosphere below.

She’s always aloof and precise and untouchable, but she’s very touchable, right now; such a hot fucking mess. Her hair spills over everywhere. She’s trembling like a leaf in the wind, like Saturn’s hands are already on her. Saturn knows from experience that the only thing keeping her hands off herself is Pluto’s presence below them. That's what Luna-Terra wants, someone to hold her hands back. Luna-Terra is very very weak to pleasure.

She’s so weak and so strong and so rough and so delicate. so so sososo. Saturn hums tunelessly, a habit she's picked up from Pluto, tremendously pleased with herself and her prize? pet? Bitch. Luna-Terra looks fucking delicious, sweating like that; lower lip pressed between her teeth, eyes unfocused, half-lidded and glazed over.

“heel, girl” she says. “back down. show me you really mean business, that you’re never going back to Earth, that you’d rather straight up die than choke on the brutal truth of 9.8 m/s2. break your spear in half.”

She expected a little more resistance. Not from Luna-Terra; LT may be stubborn but that stubbornness is a transparent front for her desire to get totally owned.

That spear, though, is famous in its own right, even if it’s just a piece of rational metal, purely by virtue of the number of pilots and ships it’s cut down, and Luna-Terra has an adorable tendency to get sentimental over objects. But the spear snaps in Mare Crisium’s hands right at the place where her thumbs meet like a nice clean break between her and Earth.

Luna-Terra will always care about the other pilots, even if she has no idea how to show it. She doesn’t have to let Earth twist that into something horrible ever again.

(Of course Pluto has another spear, just in case. Saturn may be an idiot who wants to get shot down but nobody is shooting Luna-Terra down but her! and Pluto. oh and maybe Mars god how fun would it be to just like ambush LT with her, even if Mars wouldn’t consider it “fair”)

“This, Luna-Terra,” says Saturn ”is what happens to stupid girls who think they can get away with breaking their own hearts. They get reality rammed down their pretty little throats!”

Luna-Terra finds that even after all these years she’s still learning new ways to use Mare Crisium. She knows the schematics better than the backs of her hands; it’s easy if slow and kind of involved to vent a little coolant into that purely ceremonial mouth. Mare Crisium drools red, like her own weeping wound.

Saturn feels like she’s in a painting. Not that she isn’t basically always a ravishing work of art but the colors are just so intense. The entire tableau is hyperreal: space overhead, the seething sliding spiraling clouds around them, the girl kneeling in front of her in open supplication. Saturn loves being worshipped. Life is good.

But it could be better! This is too normal. Saturn changes her frame of reference. Instead of standing in front of Mare Crisium, the String of Pearls crouches on and over her, like she’s a tilting floor and the clouds are a wall behind her, bending subtly away from her in all directions like some sort of anti-gravity emanates from them both.

That’s ridiculous, of course. Gravity doesn’t work like that, but here in space we make our own rules. Space is Time is Culture - and Saturn loves changing perspectives.

“shaft first.” she says. “open up bitch!”

Luna-Terra opens her mouth, like the mouth on the body that she lives in when she isn’t being a ship, and Saturn lets out a peal of bright clear laughter. “for those of you watching live from space, ill probably release the version with LTs face later! sorry thats for people who subscribe to actually fighting for their future. shes so well trained. i Love it!”

She loops the back half-spear in leash cord, pulls the leash cord back to the cloud wall and steps on it, pulling Mare Crisium closer down and in.

“ill let u up when i put it in,” Saturn says, her claws holding the blade. It sinks in a little, but that’s okay; String of Pearls will be fine. Without Mare Crisium’s tide it’s not even that sharp. “go ahead and get it ready for me.”

It’s kind of awkward with those face plates but the Mare Crisium manages. String of Pearls pulls the spear up and inspects it twice, deliberately early each time; crosses her arms or puts her claws on her hips, shakes her head no. no you can do better than that.

Mare Crisium’s face is streaked with coolant by the time she’s done. The String of Pearls runs her hand all over it, smearing it everywhere, and then licks a little off with her slim little cat tongue. It tastes like paint thinner and shitty alcohol, with a strong mint aftertaste.

“check ur side storage pet,” says Saturn. “pluto packed u some surprises!” She lets up on the leash, and the Mare Crisium straightens slowly. “i want u naked with one of those in your mouth, but no touching below the waist! lmk when ur ready and we can go at the same time, ok?

Luna-Terra strips in record time, hands hesitating only a fraction longer as she pulls her pants off, savoring even that slight friction. She signals Saturn with the dildo poised over her mouth, slaps the button like three more times when Saturn doesn’t immediately signal her back.

“look at you babe!” says Saturn. “finally sending the first message! you out there wont believe this but she actually texts back now!”

And then, paws on the blade, the String of Pearls sinks the broken half-shaft of Mare Crisium’s spear deep into her throat.

Mare Crisium doesn’t have the equipment for simulating a gag reflex, and, because she pilots completely manually, (recent developments in tidal sensitivity aside), Luna-Terra (probably) wouldn’t feel it if she did. Pluto and Saturn have spent quite a lot of Venus’ months’ long afternoons making sure that the pilot Luna-Terra doesn’t have one either.

Even with her feeds tuned to Saturn reaming the Mare Crisium, Luna-Terra’s eyes drop closed. All she can feel is the toy opening her throat up, thick and blunt and just barely yielding as it smoothes out the soft tissue inch by inexorable inch (it’s so close to a horrible feeling but it feels so so good). Anything less than perfect openness will make her gag, and that would be hot too—she’s done it often enough—but she won’t let herself disappoint Saturn.

Spit and tears spill over. Luna-Terra knows her makeup is running, knows just how much time Saturn spent in the labs designing molecular keys so no matter what else touches that mascara only tears can smear it away.

She can feel Pluto’s hands on her shoulders, settling her, centering her. That makes it easier.

Luna-Terra is an object, an animal. She doesn’t remember what sight even is. She never thinks when she’s piloting, but now she’s been pushed past even that, out past the teasing wash of waves on the shore, out past the breakers, to somewhere where Earth can’t touch her.

Driftwood floats around her, wave-smooth; the flotsam of some ancient wreck. The swells lap gently at her skin. Her hair

A long time ago,

before Saturn

before Mars

before Pluto

before space

before Luna-Terra was Luna-Terra

the person who became Luna-Terra walked out into the waves

and was beaten back, hair dripping with salt-tears.

Luna-Terra hasn’t thought about that person in a long time.

That person was suffering. That person couldn’t exist on earth.

Luna-Terra has carried the weight of that suffering with her since she was born.

She can’t forget it. Even if she could put that suffering down, she wouldn’t want to. That was the proof that person existed.

But now Pluto’s arms sit around the small of her waist, folded over the places she desperately wants to touch, like the most natural thing in the world. But now her throat is full of Saturn, firm when she wants to be, soft when she needs to be, one hand on her neck and the other very very busy.

She held on because she was afraid to let go. But space is nothing more and nothing less than the inverse of earth. She let go because she was afraid to hold on.

So she just does both.

If this is Eversion, thinks Luna-Terra, this infinite rush of timeless being, she can see the appeal. She wouldn’t want to live like this forever, but it’s nice.

Saturn’s voice pulls Luna-Terra out of non-existence. “eyes open! good girl. hey, do u mind if i. uh.”

Luna-Terra reaches out without looking for Mare Crisium’s left toggle yoke joystick thingy. Mare Crisium is humming subtly differently than usual, like someone’s putting stress on her ancillary thermal regulators by sticking something long and wet in the speaker at the back of her strictly ornamental mouth. Why did they even put that in there, symbolic reasons aside? There’s no air in space.

“nnnnnn.” says Luna-Terra, before she reluctantly drags the dildo up out of her mouth, trailing thick saliva. “No, go ahead. We went over it and I trust you completely.”

“yesssssss” says Saturn. “and ive got a little surprise for u 2!!!” She pulls the coolant-drenched spear shaft out and cleans it with a focused tidal burst. The spray flies out onto the clouds, vapors mixing. Another swipe leaves the spearhead crackling with rosy liquid lightning.

Luna-Terra looks up at her feeds. Saturn has deigned to allow herself only half the screens; on the other half Luna-Terra can see Mare Crisium’s view. Her thumb control shakes as the String of Pearls changes her frame of reference, wraps her thighs around Mare Crisium’s neck and wiggles tighter (Saturn, of course, is shaking her ass for the camera) and pulls her head back by the Keter Corona Halo, which Saturn usually calls the blowjob handle.

(Luna-Terra would call it the blowjob handle too if she wanted a reputation for giving good head, which, maybe she kind of does? She can figure that out later.)

“oh!” says saturn. “but i havent made you beg yet, have i!” String of Pearls kicks out her legs just to be cutesy and smears her own electrotoxin down over her breasts until it pools in the well of her thighs and Luna-Terra’s neck.

“no.” says Luna-Terra. She’s trying to be civil and steady but she can hear the hitch in her own voice, and so can everybody listening and the thought of that makes her even wetter. It’s the worst kind of torture, feeling her own sticky fluid ooze slowly out; dull and throbbing, not even almost-maddening. “No you havent.”

“Worst” of course is just what Luna-Terra wants.

Luna-Terra doesn’t care about getting off, not like Saturn. She just wants to be continuously and completely destroyed. True, she has a hard time keeping her hands off herself but that’s just because she likes being held down and Pluto is kind enough to indulge her. If nobody else is around, or if Pluto decides no, she doesn’t feel like holding Luna-Terra down today, and she’s in the right mood she’ll just lose track of time deliberately not having orgasms.

“i could, make you beg to beg?” says Saturn. “or is that too meta.”

Luna-Terra gives her a look like please just let me put this thing back in my face my whole chest is heaving, in a good way, and my breasts are aching in ways they havent since they first grew in. I’m going to stick my joystick up my ass soon if you keep drawing this out. Saturn thinks hm that might be kinda hot actually but fine she gets it.

“god i want to fuck you up.” says saturn. “like im already fucking you up but like, u know, get in there and really fuck you UP, both your bodies at the same time. but you know the rules. im giving u a choice bitch! you can ask pluto, or me, or all those nice people watching out there!”

“…Please.” says Luna-Terra. “Pl, ease just, let me. aghhhhhhhh—“ because down below Pluto has sent a tiny whiplash-jolt of gravity up so she can hear the noises LT makes.

Saturn sniffs, mock-angry. “we both know you can do better than that! you just want me to punish you don’t you. well its not gonna happen but if u impress me hm i Guess you could put a plug in”

Luna-Terra fluffs out her hair, stands on her seat, turns around and bends over. Pluto is pulling at her from below, pressing her face into the cold metal surface of the storage unit she never bothered to fill, hard enough to leave a latch-shaped mark on her face. She rocks her head back and forth just a little, secure in Pluto’s tides.

Saturn whistles, low and slow. “basic bitch move but very well executed! ok girl u earned it. keep your mouth open for now i wanna hear u breathe” and Luna-Terra immediately twist-slides down into her seat and goes right for the plugs.

The kinds of engineers and chemists willing to defect from Earth have been more than happy to help Saturn try all kinds of exotic materials: silicone derivatives and dynamically-reformatting aerogels and biointerfaces and things with motors that expand and contract and pulsate and shiver. Saturn likes things that move in ways beyond human. Pluto would be happy using her hands but she's willing to try whatever! But Luna-Terra is, as Saturn knows, a basic bitch who likes the unyielding smooth cold weight of old-fashioned stainless steel.

Pluto’s watching too, even if this is Saturn’s stage and Luna-Terra’s debasement. Luna-Terra has always had steady hands so it’s an absolute joy to see her fumble the lube-covered plug and make the cutest little pouty face! The plug falls on the floor with a jarring clank; Luna-Terra whimpers and curses and reaches for the next size up.

She’s at the point where it’s actually a relief to get something inside her. She lubed up before launch, of course, nervous as always (she never could trust the catapults, not that anyone but Pluto could ever tell, or ever will. Sure she can get leashed and publically throatfucked but some things are just too embarrassing to say) and she’s been feeling empty ever since.

It’s easy once she’s past the entrance, easier than her throat for sure. Luna-Terra needs to hold herself perfectly still and poised for that, and sure, transcendence is nice, but sometimes, usually, she wants to squirm and wiggle and feel every little movement as she tightens and trembles around that unnatural weight inside her, always just intrusive enough to be arousing but never quite overwhelming, so that she always has to work for it.

Her legs are crossed at the knee now; she’s rocking helplessly in a pool of her own juices trying to move that metal inside her just the tiniest bit more against the seat, hands on breasts and fingers on nipples.

The String of Pearls reaches down and spanks Mare Crisium with the flat of her own neurolightning-wreathed blade. She really needs to be paying more attention to Saturn!

“Yes.” says Luna-Terra. She’s not even looking at the screens at this point; not looking at anything at all, but she can still tell exactly what just happened to Mare Crisium by the way her chassis shudders. “Yes please thats just what I need. pleeeeease please pleaseplease.”

“ok!” says Saturn. “u asked for it!” and plunges the sparking blade of Mare Crisium’s spear right down her throat.

Mare Crisium’s mouth is effectively purely cosmetic, but Luna-Terra knows Mare Crisium inside and out, Saturn considers herself pretty damn good at fucking things up, especially in sexy ways, and Pluto down below can just hold the whole thing in place by sheer tidal force if anything goes wrong.

It’s still nervewracking and exhilarating when the blade penetrates the speaker. Saturn pushes further down, smearing her electrotoxin with her as she pierces through Mare Crisium’s auxilary gyroscopic regulator and Vishuddha clavilith.

There’s not a lot of resistance, which seems counterintuitive until Saturn remembers that very few people have ever even hit Luna-Terra, much less made it past her quasisteel armor plating, and that Luna-Terra really just wants to be destroyed.

Saturn slows down. She wants this to last—and the faster she goes the more likely Luna-Terra is to just lose it, which would be cute! but Saturn wants to push her further. Mare Crisium’s spear was only impossibly sharp because of Luna-Terra’s own focused gravity, but that doesn’t mean Saturn isn’t careful. She twists the spear, careful not to damage any of Mare Crisium’s tidal parsers; liquid lightning tears right for them, but Saturn holds it back with her own precisely regulated tidal forces. It’s incredibly impressive, and Luna-Terra would doubtless be more impressed if she wasn’t busy being wrecked by the capacity that she would be impressed by. Saturn magnanimously decides that she can get praised later.

Luna-Terra doesn’t usually get any kind of sensory feedback from her ship-self but the physical vibrations of contact, and Saturn is determined to make her understand that making-out-with-a-battery rush in any way she can. Bubbling neurolightning-gas-liquid snarls and licks out in ways Luna-Terra can feel all the way down in her cockpit, and a tiny bit of that energy makes its way by vibrational proxy up through that plug and leaves Luna-Terra too turned on to even touch her breasts or do anything but hang her torso forward to her knees like she’s going to throw up and feel Pluto at her back and grind her ass desperately on her chair, hair wild breath ragged and shaking, quavering, writhing. It’s too much. How, the fuck, has Saturn not let her, come yet, what, could possibly, top. this. If Pluto wasn’t cradling her and whispering in her ear Luna-Terra would have soaked her console twice over at that first break in her throat.

Saturn digs deeper into Luna-Terra, toward her Eightfold Arbitration Tabernacle.

Luna-Terra is totally defenseless. The electrotoxin strips her system control like Saturn fingered her firewalls. Saturn uses her voice just like her claws and tail and spear, and Luna-Terra can feel that too now; a hand on her chin, lifting her head up as Saturn spits on her face.

“what a bottom bitch u are! all that and you’re not even hard! ur really broken in good, arent u. so wait for me. theres one more thing.”

Luna-Terra can’t even hear her at this point, so Saturn sends out the tidal equivalent of a slap to her face.

“it feels so good, doesnt it! i know it does i tried it first. i know u can do this, LT. just hold the fuck on for a little longer. youre so used to denying yourself but u dont have to do that anymore u just have to let us hold you back.”

Luna-Terra understands.

“We can hold you. I can’t hold everything, no matter how much I want to, but I can hold you.”

“i got u. im going to make you feel good in ways that never existed before i made them up! trust me”

and it doesn’t feel any less good, but it feels more bearable. She’s allowed to feel good. They love her and want her to feel good. She really has been stupid, to not see this, but they’ll say it as many times as they have to, because that’s how much they love her. They love her enough to hold her down and ram that love down her throat and up her ass when she asks for it, when she can’t quite believe them.

And then the tip of the spear that was hers breaks right through into her cockpit. That spear is so much bigger than Luna-Terra has always understood it to be, looking through these eyes.

Luna-Terra feels very small, and very safe.

“well i Know u like metal,” says Saturn, “so i got u something to rub urself on! go ahead, LT. its already lubed! youve been such a good girl, and u deserve to get what u want, so cum whenever you want bitch~<3”

The spear shoots downward into the floor; electrotoxin sprays everywhere. It fizzles and bubbles on whatever it touches, cold almost like heat and hot almost like cold; dances over and under Luna-Terra’s sweat-slick skin like a rosy blush, into her plug and down her legs and up again like lover’s kisses (she realizes her boyshorts still hanging on one ankle and doesn’t bother kicking them off.)

A little exposition for all u listening! says Saturn. electrotoxin is usually really fucking deadly for humans. u would not Believe how long it took to get it working like that. come over to Venus, Earth pilots, and ill give u a taste. literally! its so sweet i have like this nozzle tentacle thing here in String of Pearls—but maybe i can talk about that some other time.

Luna-Terra can feel Pluto soft and warm behind her as the electrotoxin soaks-sizzles into her, leaving her numb and tingling and so fucking turned on. The spear in front of her is just a little cold, just how she likes it.

She’d always rolled her eyes at the detailing Memorial Foundation had insisted on for her weapon, but she appreciates the symbolism now, grinding over that delicious friction. She feels totally fucking obscene and it feels totally fucking fantastic, so she lets herself moan and wow does she sound hot, so she does it again!

Far above, Saturn smiles and the String of Pearls reaches out and gently flicks her end of the broken spear shaft, so the metal sings for Luna-Terra. Luna-Terra comes for she doesn’t even know how long, elbows on the spear, holding on—not because she has to, because of course Pluto is with her—but because she wants to, because she can feel Saturn there, because Saturn is resonating in every gentle claw twitch and she loves her.

 

+++

 

“I love you.” says Luna-Terra, afterwards.

“i know.” says Saturn. and then: “i love you too. i mean, im pretty sure ive said it and u said it back but, not like this. i mean obviously i knew already. it feels really nice to hear you say it tho say it again pls!”

“I love you.” says Luna-Terra. “…Don’t push your luck.”

“or what” Saturn retorts, “youll push me down and have ur wicked way with me?”

“Now, Saturn,” Pluto chimes in, “you know she doesn’t do that! But she’ll ask me to do it instead and I will happily oblige!”

“Please, Pluto,” says Luna-Terra, in the most deadpan voice she can manage (it isn’t very.)

“Lteeeeeeee LT LT LT say it again say it again! its so weird hearing u actually ask for things i Love It!”

“I love you, Saturn.” says LT. “Now bellyrubs. You promised.”

She falls asleep like that, with the both of them, and her dreams are full of warm soft light.

Gravity never truly reaches zero. The person who became her was raised under Earth’s unrelenting gravity, and so she’s always going to carry a little of that weight. But she can, when she isn’t holding it alone, and when she's somewhere Earth can never touch her again.

**Author's Note:**

> o,kay,..,,,
> 
> its really nice to see them all happy together after my last thing, which was like two months of horrible painful destruction. this functions as kind of a sequel i guess.


End file.
